


(New Title) Feeling Pretty Fake When I Wake Up

by B0_57



Series: DSMP Apocalypse AU [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (Tommy and Wilbur get it rough in their childhood, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Bad Writing, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Burning money goes brrrrrrrrr, Canon!Fundy is so great istg, Dream SMP universe needs consistent tags, Fluff and Angst, Gender Dysphoria, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I felt high while writing this, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomnia, It gets explicit but is only flashbacks <3 stay safe, M/M, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, RANBOO GOES BRRRRRR, Ranboo is a different breed, References to Canon, Tags Are Fun, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tommy deserves better, Tommy has trust issues, Tommy-centric, Verbal Abuse, What Have I Done, Wilbur has trust issues, a lot of shit, except maybeeeee, fundy said it was fine and Wilbur agrees, i have no clue if I should incorporate Schlatt, techno never dies, this is a really fun story to write though, this is a vent fic, this tag was for Fundy cause of the DSMP headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B0_57/pseuds/B0_57
Summary: (Title taken from the song Pigeon, by Cavetown)Its an apocaplypse AU, woohoo another common trope, but with a fun twist!No one takes it too seriously.There are moments where Tommy looks through the world in a different lense. His mind wanders off to far-away places where he can escape whatever hellhole of an Earth this was.85% of the population is gone.Everyone feels aloneOr:Trust issues and angst goes brrrrr(Not too well written, finally getting motivation after months of not writing)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Ranboo & Wilbur Soot, a lot of friendships-, only referenced though - Relationship
Series: DSMP Apocalypse AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071875
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy this chapter was far too fun to write, and even if it wasnt too great I really enjoyed it and am planning on continuing.
> 
> It is more of a lot of short stories with multiple arcs all connecting leading to the main arc as well :)  
> -Bee

_His feet slam against the pavement, murky puddles splashing all around him. Coating his destroyed boots in questionable substances and slightly disconcerts him and messes up his fast pace, but he doesn’t stop. Nope, he just continues running, his left boot slowly becoming more and more destroyed as he sprints across the empty streets of London. buildings fly past him, as he speeds up his pace, not taking a second to look back behind him, not even to check if those monsters were still following him. Because he knew, he heard their gurgles come up their throat, and how it sounded like they were crashing into each other and into puddles, all the while keeping a steady jogging pace behind him._

_He was much more agile though, able to jump up onto cars, mildly denting the metal as he lands and jumps off them without a second of hesitiation, usually having an advantage as these things were pretty stupid and crashed into the cars, their heads generally being bashed open as the fall. Killing the things quickly, or slowly. Either way it killed them and that was all that was important at the moment._

_Of course luck was not on his side today as both of his parents were just gone, so he had to find new people and new shelter, after all missing people who were most likely these creatures were not great company for a 15 year old human boy. Although that was not what he meant when he brought this up. It wasn’t even the scent of ash and rubble of fallen buildings and burnt money._

_He never liked the scent of it, but right now he didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn't the main ordeal he was fixated on. There was a minimum of five, maybe ten stumbling creatures chasing him until he couldn't breathe._

_He also may or may not have felt his ankle twist 180 degrees, yet not quite breaking the bone, yet he swore he heard the bone almost break in half as he stumbled and continued springing forwards. He was alone in this. yet he’d make it out alive, he promises himself that the hammering in his heart, his pulsing calves, and swelling ankle wouldn't be for nothing. that he wouldn't immediately fall, victim, like his parents probably did._

_He swerves in front of a car, catching maybe half of the creatures off-guard and snapping their legs off from their torso, with a foul ripping scent. like when you tear the fabric in half. the other half wasn't as dumb._

_mistake number one: swerving. despite it killing about half of the creatures who were out for blood, with a sickening crack. He managed to hurt his ankle more when his foot hit the ground with too much force. this time, it cracked. He felt it slowly tear and almost break, he had dislocated it, huh? what a way that he would go. Dislocating his limb after running away like a pitiful child who was just exiled from his nation._

_Mistake number two: trying to regain footing in the worst way possible, pushing himself up with a seriously messed up foot._

_They were catching up._

_Finally, mistake number three: yelling in pain, he couldn't help it. it felt like tens of thousands of needles stabbed into his ankle, slowly piercing his skin as he slowly bled upon the ground. Which wasn’t happening if that isn't obvious, it just felt like he got stabbed in the middle of a dark empty alley past midnight, there was no one there to come by his side to help, they were all occupied with whatever._

_He was pretty sure everyone was dead by now anyway or at least turned into a monstrosity that would barely be identifiable as a human if it wasn't for its head._

_Here he was, trying to run, but unable to, the only release being yelling. “gah-! ow, ow, fu- ah!” he lands on it again. this time, unable to regain his footing and collapsing onto the pavement. Time slowed, he felt as his body fell forwards slowly, the pavement looking like it’ll kiss him with how close it is. He feels his shoulder collide with the ground, scraping against the torn fabric and scratching his skin open. He hisses in pain, feeling the lose rubble rub into the wound._

_His face slams against the concrete, as he shuts his eyes, not exactly wanting to get stuff in his eyes if he was going to survive this encounter._

_He opens his eyes slowly, blinking as he turns over to look at the sky covered in ash and far away fires. He hears the groaning and gagging come closer and closer, their salivating mouths could be sensed if they were close enough. He swore he could feel the breath on his legs._

_He had to go and now._

_Of course, his legs failed him as the moment he got past a limping pace, the tip of his boots bent backward and forced him back to the ground. He crashes down on his_ , just _wrists, pain shooting throughout his entire body, he feels as if he just got shot._

“ _Eh- kid?” A voice that had an English accent with a hint of Scottish. He didn't look up, groaned, and tried to point towards the hoard of monsters probably lunging towards him. “Oh my God, American boy! Here’s your chance to kill as you wanted!”_

_“Phil look! A child! Can we keep it please~?” A strong British accent. Older guy, early twenties maybe._

_“He’s not a puppy Will- we don't just steal a teenager off the streets, that’s just… weird” The man named Phil sighs, a few gunshots going off._

_“he’s going to die without us anyway Phil, we should probably give him some hospitality unless he’s an orphan. We know what the orphans did to my family,”_

_“Honestly, American boy, we have no clue on what the orphans did,” Wilbur’s voice starts to blur around his ears quite a bit, muddling the sound within his ears. “Oh look the child is dying, c’mon let's help him,”_

_He blacks out soon afterward, from the sheer pain of every single limb in his body being overexerted after walking/running from Nottinghamshire to London. A forty-four-hour walk, run without food or water._

_Yes, he’s in a lot of pain, even while blacked out. What could he say, it was a strenuous and_ **_most certainly not_ ** _terrifying trek in an empty city. Besides from the occasional dozens upon dozens of monsters he struggled to kill, mainly from sleep-deprivation and grogginess, but hey: he could at least brag about it to some lunatic later in life he presumes._

_He jolts awake on a rather comforting mattress or a plain spring mattress. Either way, it felt like he was asleep on a million dollars. He wishes he slept for longer, because with the way the sky looks, (which is much clearer in whatever area he was in earlier) it was the only sundown, and according to his almost destroyed watch, which got destroyed the moment he got chased to death by the rampant monsters it was 16:47._

_Either a lot of time had passed or barely any, and either way, he was mildly disappointed. Mild suicidal tendencies were in his head amidst the fight for his life, he’d rather end it all than suffer it out his family, but at the same time: he wants to live for his family. Which had disappeared right in front of his eyes, all those two days ago. Probably became some blood-hungry skinwalkers or something of the sort._

_He grumbles some curses and gets up carefully, not taking a second to glance down at his obliterated wrists, which had some cotton wrap around them. If he was a wussy he would cry, but he is not a wussy. It does not hurt, no, not at all._

_He looks around at the building. It was an empty parking garage, high up. Convenience reasons maybe, the open space with the empty windows had an eerie feeling. Like he was about to get murdered by someone in this building. Unlikely, but it’s just a thought after all._

_There is a scent of smoke, like always, but it seemed more of a controlled scent, like wood or money. He doesn’t care to look around or even give a second glance at his scenery before considering going back to rest. It was a much better world when he was at peace in his mind, no psycho murderers preaching about how the monsters (or whatever they are) were spawn of God and they would save everyone. Despite it being confirmed as a government-made virus from Canada that got loose, spreading faster than anyone could recognize, as people turned into literal rabid animals. Killing 85% of the human population from what he’s heard on the streets and cities he’s passed by._

_He considered staying with a few people he came across but decided against it. They were all nut jobs in disguise, broken over the constant death and despair around them. Leaving a hollow shell and just all depressing talk, which he currently didn’t need. He didn't need to live in either an abusive, manipulative, or just terrible home with ratty clothes and a broken spirit like he did once before. He was glad that was over and only lasted a few weeks before the apocalypse._

_That’s beside the point, he didn't want to be alone but wasn’t sure if this was a place he was welcome to stay or even a safe place to stay either._

_He just sits up, his shoulders hunched to his ears, and his hands clutching his shirt like a baby who didn't know any better and couldn’t do anything ever. As that is what he is. A sad teenager who didn't know how to act his age, he was a crybaby, annoying use of matter, that people would tease relentlessly because of how extroverted he is._

_He’d obviously tease back, but then it got physical, he always lost when that happened. Obvious hesitance in his part for good reasons he presumes._

_“Ah- you’re up earlier than I expected!” Someone comes into view, a blonde-haired man who looks a bit older than he sounded, he had fair skin, greenish-blue eyes, and a white and green bucket hat. His face was soft and welcoming. A rare sight to see nowadays. Everyone was a mopey mess who never seemed to see the bright side of anything._

_One good sign at least. Hopefully, he wasn’t manic._

_“Well, I hope you had a good rest, I honestly thought with all your injuries that you sustained that you’d be out for longer…”_

_“Uhuh, your point old man?”_

_“Ahah- wow! I was just saying, you have one hell of a pain tolerance!” He laughs at the teenager's snarky remark, albeit he did look slightly offended as well. “I’m Philza, and the person way back there, the British guy- is Wilbur! Techno is… somewhere-“_

_“You guys sound like complete losers just from hearing your names, I’m Tommy,”_

_“Right, and your name doesn’t make you sound like you get beat around by the school kids,” Wilbur retorts, his voice echoing through the building._

_“Ouch, I’m so hurt by the failed version of a boy band idol,” he sticks out his tongue at Wilbur who is a distance away and not even facing towards him._

_This seems like an extremely different chance for him..._


	2. Chapter One: Why has nothing changed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur never sleeps, and he ponders about life with his new family. Wondering about the new “normal”
> 
> Then he vibes and shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did want to make this specifically Tommy centric, but I realized we have to pay attention to the other MC’s as well! There are so god damn many, so I’m just focusing on the original cast + a special person!

Wilbur is usually always the first to get up, after all, he can’t sleep. He just lays on an old mattress in the garage they still haven’t left yet and stares at the ceiling or the stars outside. Wondering what life would be like if this wasn’t the situation they were stuck in. 

Maybe he’d be able to play his guitar calmly again, singing popular songs whilst getting no recognition, just like he wanted. Even if he had his guitar right now, they’d inevitably have to use it as a weapon sometime in the future. It was better, either way, he had to be focused on other things. Like making fertilizer bombs and flashbangs in case of emergencies. 

His sleeplessness had led to him becoming unimaginably irrational and paranoid.

He’s never been able to sleep since high school, and when he didn’t he was prescribed pills, but he was out of them and couldn’t go to therapy, so he was stuck under a thin blanket with his eyes wide and no matter how hard he’d try, he was unable to fall into a nice deep slumber for over ten  _ fucking  _ minutes. 

Although it wasn’t too unbearable, he had grown used to the silence of the night that used to bring him severe discomfort and the cool breeze running past him when he got up and went towards the open spaces between the pillars of the garages. his eyes scanning the dark city and bright stars that lit up the city themselves. Barren of life and monsters. 

It was such a calm he had gotten used to, he loved it.  _ Okay… _ not exactly love but it was nice in a bizarre way. He felt normal at night, when the creatures go to sleep for the night, only to torment them in the day ahead. A cycle that was just the new normal for them all.

he wasn’t exactly complaining, per se; the cycle was much better than his past ones. His depressive state of mind has been clouded by constant adrenaline and anxiety that someone was always behind him, ready to strike.

Although he did prefer not to be in a constant state of fight or flight, his hands always on his gun he managed to swipe from a dead American tourist. He remembers wondering if the citizen had had a certificate or license to bring it across the ocean where these types of guns are banned.

He lowers his hand from the 9mm and exhales softly, staring out at the sky, where the sun was slowly peeking out from the horizon. Another new day arriving once again. Yawning he turns around and walks to one corner of the garage where their food stash lay, a few crates filled with salt-preserved, freeze-dried and dehydrated food they had made months before the apocalypse as a humorous joke turned bad. If luck existed, they sure as Hell had a lot of it, with how drunk Wilbur, Phil, and Techno were that one day. Binge buying meats to turn into jerky, fruits, etc. 

They were an intriguing trio, even without Tommy or their newest extension - Tubbo, someone who just happened to wander into their base at midnight, a few hours after Tommy was brought in and had woken up. 

Fate and luck were so weird for them.

He laughs airily and reaches over to one of the crates, his hands sliding over the rough wood and small splinters sticking out. Wrapping his hands around the edges, he fastens his grip and yanks his hands upwards, the crate adjusting from the force and the lid popping off with ease. Carefully, he places the lid down on the ground, ensuring that there would be no clattering sound on the ground when he placed it. Which meant he used his fingers as cushions for the lid and slowly removed them from the bottom of the lid.

He peeks inside the crate, pondering over what type of food he should grab, they didn’t have too much food, but enough to last them at least a month or a month and a half if they rationed it correctly. He decides to reach in and just chose five random packaged foods, planning on splitting them into halves just to ensure they didn’t have to go out and have a situation as they did with the first day, Philza, Wilbur and Techno were out. 

Shuddering at the thought, he tears his hands out from the crate, only grabbing four packages of food. Though he doesn’t bother to grab one more, he’ll just skip food for this morning. 

He was certain he did not need the food anyway.

He places the lid back onto the crate and gathers the food he grabbed. Not considering grabbing one more pack as he walked away. 

His eyes scan the open space, pausing on every single asleep person, Philza, Tubbo, Techno, and… Tommy.

Tommy was the most peculiar person he had ever had the opportunity to stumble across. He joked about drugs and alcohol but scrunched his nose at the sight of it, complaining about how it smelled like a college frat party. Which Wilbur was certain he’d never been to. 

He’d be all headstrong and tough, but the moment someone fucked something of his up, he didn’t complain nor act tough about it, just would shrug it off and go along with his day. 

Neither of those things was much to worry about and he knows it. Yet there was always such an  _ off  _ feeling in those situations coming from him. He had to wonder if something had happened in his past.

Wilbur was tired though, he always was, so that was just his excuse to assure himself that Tommy was fine and he was just extremely paranoid. 

Insomnia did that to him either way, it made him paranoid and pained at the slightest of things. Unhinged emotions and feelings that swung whenever he got no sleep at all, to the point where everyone around him has grown used to it and expected it. He hated that they expected it, but he couldn’t control it. 

He wishes he could though. The countless times that he’s snapped at either Tommy or Tubbo for being immature teenagers was terrifying, even for him. 

Everything always came back to Tommy it seems. (please don’t take this out of context, it’s platonic, not romantic or sexual) He got mad at Tommy most often, he worried about Tommy more often than he worried about anybody else. He didn’t understand why - he’s barely known Tommy, only knowing him for about a month, yet he’d fucking kill someone to ensure he was okay. 

He’d do that for anyone else he was close to, but Tommy was just a separate case.

He’ll blame it on sleepless delirium. How about that?

“Quit staring at him, you look like a creep-“ Techno’s voice breaks through.

“Hey-! I-I’m not one!” He whispers, turning to face Techno.

“Yeah yeah sure,”

“Oh my God Techno!” He groans, shoving a pack of food into the sunburnt man’s hands “Learn what sunscreen is you pasty motherfucker,”

“No thanks, too much effort.”

A grumble of incoherent slurring nonsense spews from Wilbur’s mouth.

“Look man, I only took two years of Spanish what are you saying?”

An airy wheeze escapes from Wilbur’s mouth, “no.. aha-!” He nearly hisses out the words, playfully giggles filling up the silence.

“Oh, wow Wilbur are you okay?”

“Emotional  _ pain, _ ” Wilbur says, trying to keep in his loud laughter.

“Alrighty, edgelord,”

“Sh-shhh” He giggles, “that's my little secret”

“uhuh, and apparently making a full album that got more popular than your other songs full of edge helped keep it a secret,”

“Alrighty orphan obliterator-“

“mmm, you guys are so bloody loud-“ Wilbur looks at the newest awake person, which is none other than Tommy. “The sun has yet to rise and you guys are giggling like little schoolgirls,”

“Shut up Tommy, the adults are talking,”

“I’m going back to sleep you annoying brats” Tommy mutters something under his breath, but neither Techno nor Wilbur care to ask what he said. As it was probably some stupid snarky comment he was too afraid to say louder.

Techno sits down, watching Tommy as he lies back down, his body facing away from the two adults. Exhaling silently and throwing a thin blanket over his body.

Wilbur sits down next to him, tossing a package of food towards Tommy, who curses at him and snatches it from the ground, muttering a small thanks. “fuckin packages” He mutters, fumbling with the package.

_ “You are a truly an odd person,”  _ Wilbur thinks, a small grin on his face.

Wilbur groans, his thighs and calves throbbing in pain, he swore he never ran as fast as he did this month, the five of them decided “hey let's all have some sort of excitement today and murder some shit,” which in foresight, was not a good idea whatsoever. Tommy’s ankles and wrists weren’t completely healed, he probably dislocated his wrists and ankles or fractured them. Hopefully not, but Techno was carrying him, sprinting faster than anyone else. 

Tubbo was the least fit out of them all yet got the least injured, running farther behind than anyone else, and complains about the weather as a distraction for him.

Philza nearly got killed by three of the things that they were trying to fight and was now on Wilbur’s back as they neared the garage.

The five of them all were tired and stressed as hell, wishing they never did this in the first place. 

“God, let’s just get inside” Wilbur groans, staring up at their tall building, wishing they didn’t set camp at the sixth story. The destroyed sidings and stained walls mocked him as he stared up at the tall building. His sleeplessness catching up to him slowly, like a creeping animal ready to attack and catch its prey off-guard. 

“Was this building ever this tall-?” Tommy asks as Techno carries him like a princess to the entrance.

“God I thought it wasn’t” Tubbo mutters, trudging forwards into the building behind Wilbur. 

Philza shifts in his position on Wilbur, probably slowly falling asleep. Although it did scare the younger British man for a second, you don’t exactly expect someone moving on your back often. He did realize it was just Phil and shrugged it off, pausing to let the sleepy man in his early thirties get more comfortable, (why did I add his age, idk I felt obligated to for some reason) before continuing walking at a slower pace to ensure not waking him up. After all the creatures were far gone, they hopefully had no physical threats to worry about.

“ _ maybe there is,”  _ he thinks, his mind plaguing him with outcomes that are so unlikely unless things played out in a perfect sequence.

The building could collapse on top of them.

The creatures were just hiding and would kill everyone.

He was insane and was going to kill everyone.

The bombs he made would all simultaneously go off at once and kill everyone.

Someone else in the group was going to kill everyone.

No, no, no, no, he's insane if he thinks any of this will happen. This is all so far-fetched….

(being stress-written while in school while listening to all of IC3PEAK’s songs, I am very paranoid and it is being inputted into my writing)

It can happen though.

Maybe their luck will end and they all die once and for all. No one shares their non-existent legacy.

“Mm, Wilbur speed up,” Philza mutters, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and neck. A lighter grip than most people hold, yet it felt like Philza would never fall even if he removed his legs from his waist. His legs hold tight around Wilbur”s waist though, squeezing him like a corset as the two moves across the world slowly. A comforting hug as he speeds up.

“Tired,” he grumbles, patting Philza’s hand lightly as he walks up to one of the car ramps to the third floor. His vision blurs and starts to dance in front of him like he was in a drunken state while driving. Reckless and mental. Colors swirl his vision and he feels himself get heavier with every step. He needs to sleep, and today might be one of the first nights of sleep in five days. He was shocked the hallucinations hadn’t started right yet. He was so far from a sane state of mind and normal sleep schedule it was painful. 

“Hey, uh- Wilbur you good?” Tubbo’s voice breaks through the fog in his brain.

“Hm- uh? Tired…” 

“You look like you’re going to pass out man.” 

“No-no! Of course not, Toob, Tubbo-“ he exclaims, speeding up his pace. 

An arm is placed under his shoulder, the boy helping him maneuver easily now.

“You’re putting all your weight on me, you need sleep,”

“Eh- fuck sleep, Phil is sleepy, sleep…” his voice trails off.

“God, we’re almost there anyway, fifth-floor ramp, going up to sixth,”

“Ngh- okay” he yawns keeping a steady pace with Tubbo to not inconvenience him. 

Time blurs by and he can’t seem to remember the conversations he had in the past 30 minutes. But hey they’re at the base now and that’s all that matters. 

His stomach growls, he hasn’t eaten in a day, but that’s fine, Tubbo wants him to get rest and he should. He would eat tomorrow, his hunger wasn’t a big deal anyway.

He glances over to Techno and Tommy, the two bickering as Techno wraps his wounds carefully and inspects his ankles and wrists, turning every joint carefully with brother-like care. The two were happy and he was happy that they were happy.

Philza was asleep on his shoulder, his entire body cold and wrapped with bandages like he was a mummy. He adjusted on Wilbur’s shoulder constantly, often waking up and muttering something before falling back asleep. 

Wilbur couldn’t help but feel sentimental about it, it was a stupid father-son love they had even if they weren’t even related at all. Philza treated him like a son, even if he was only eight or so years older than Wilbur. He gave Wilbur hospitality when his mental state is deteriorating past a manageable level. He helped Wilbur when his lungs gave out from running for his life after almost being beaten to death by a guy on the street, even agreeing not to take him to a hospital, like he begged not to. 

Philza was a genuinely good guy.

“Will you need to sleep,” Tubbo sighs, draping a blanket over Philza and Wilbur, “you also need to eat, I know you haven’t. Techno told me,” He knees down in front of Wilbur, forcing a bag of dehydrated meat into his hands.

“Techno is a liar,” Wilbur mutters, letting go of the food and watching as the bag drops onto the floor with a soft thump. Food didn’t taste like anything to him anyway, so he didn’t need to eat. It was like making a blind person take a vision test, what was the point if it didn’t do anything but waste money and time.

“Wilbur I will shove the food down your throat if I must.” Tubbo picks up the bag and forces it back into his hands again.

“I-“ Tubbo tears open the bag and sends a passive-aggressive glare towards Wilbur. “Fine, fine, I don’t want a child getting mad at me,” Wilbur stares down at the food, the disgusting texture makes him feel like he just walked by a sewer, even if he hasn’t necessarily  _ eaten it  _ yet. He carefully grabs a piece and puts it in his mouth, the dry texture sending a wave of unwanted shivers down his spine, sadly he pushes through, pushes through the nausea and genuine discomfort of eating food when everyone else could be eating it.

Soon enough he gets to the bottom of the bag of dried meat, a lot of thoughts and emotions running through his groggy brain.

First and foremost, why did he listen to a child?!

“Sleep you dumbass,” Tubbo smiles, patting him on the head and taking his trash, like he was a child as well.

To be frank, he was tired and couldn’t help but slowly succumb to the comforting confines of his own head, tonight being different from the last few as he wouldn’t be able to look over the London skyline as the stars would twinkle, and fires would continue to roar distances away.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I crave comments, they make me so happy, hate or not!


	3. Trauma- me? Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Tubbo meet Techno’s old rival. Tommy has flashbacks and emotional issues during it.

Tommy never sustained severe injuries in his mind. Broken limbs? That’s fine. Severe lacerations? That’s fine as well! Starvation? That’s cool.

Other people thought otherwise.

Tubbo told him it was unhealthy and not normal to think that way.

Philza swore he’d kill Tommy himself if he even considered that normal.

Wilbur was more distant about it, but more or less forced Tommy to eat and heal since the two were struggling with this “bad mental state”.

Techno physically restrained him when he overexerted or hurt himself. 

It was nothing too new since they’ve been telling him this since day one: when he said his dislocated/fractured ankle and sprained wrists were fine and he could leave them. Denying to eat and had to have food shoved in his mouth by Tubbo.

He never considered it bad necessarily until he met them. Of course, he still doesn’t consider his mental state as bad but is more cautious with his words and actions. 

Like last night when he jumped atop a car only to have the six-armed creatures figure out how to climb on it and almost bit him, sending him back onto the pavement. His ankles hitting the metal and his wrists slamming against the ground.

(Dear lord why does Tommy act like Yoobum injury-wise-)

The creatures had been killed by Philza, who was not expecting to get jumped from behind by them, which is how he almost died as well. Sustaining significantly worse injuries compared to Tommy. 

Tommy tried to run but Techno grabbed him and forced him to be held in his arms as he effortlessly killed probably a dozen creatures.

Tubbo was helping, bashing heads open with bats. While Wilbur desperately tried to pick up Phil.

It was not the best day, but honestly. It was far from the worst.

He never said anything about his injuries being not too bad and shit so he wouldn’t get the piss scolded out of him by Techno out of everyone. 

Today was different, Wilbur and Philza have been knocked out since around sunset and it was now sunrise, the two asleep men expected to be asleep for much more time. Quiet snores coming from Wilbur’s behalf, and Philza is just cuddled upon his chest, (please take this as platonic, platonic cuddles NEED to be normalized istg) the two were lying down on the cool concrete, in a rather comfortable looking position. It was a nice sentiment, the two barely ever seemed to catch a break with Tubbo and Tommy. 

He wonders if that was normal: being comfortable all the while never catching a break, it seemed so  _ impossible  _ and weird to think about, honestly.

He sighs, glancing at the two sleeping people before walking down to the perimeter of the garage. Sticking his head out of the windowless space and then tries to take in the sound that he’d always block out. Faint humming from a distance was the main thing he could hear, it was a low-pitched humming, like the humming from your fridge at night when you tried to sleep. A rather warm sounding noise he guesses. 

There was always something burning at this time of day. None of them ever encountered who did it, but there was always a new fire every morning. Which made him feel less alone in this big wide world, even with people around him he would never not feel alone if it wasn’t for the roaring fires down below from money or useless plastic credit cards. Money was useless after all, it was far past doomsday. Capitalism would never exist after this anyway. 

He wishes he could find an MP3 player or a working phone and outlet, just to play music so it would fill the painful silence that haunted him, like right now. Only the humming of whatever in the distance breaking the silence, probably the only thing keeping him remotely sane as well.

Music was a rare occurrence in many of his households, he had gotten used to the sound of cigarette lighting and wine bottles opening. Signifying it was time to… 

Ah, nevermind that! Looking back at the past would do nothing but sadden him now! So what was the point?

At some point Tubbo had joined by his side, his arms folded on the compact material with his head resting carefully on them. The uncomfortableness was almost tangible with how quiet and unsettling today was.

“So, Tommy- uh… ever done drugs?” Tubbo asks, a futile attempt to ease the tense air.

“Excuse me?! Ahah!” He laughs an annoyingly high octave laugh, but it makes Tubbo smile softly, so not an embarrassment wasted at least. “I-I mean of course I have! Although…” his voice goes down to a whisper, “I bet you Techno has gotten stoned multiple times,”

“I did what Tommy?”

He spins around, biting a scream on his tongue so he doesn't wake the two other sleeping demons. “Wha-Wha-Wha do you mean Techno? I-I-I did not say anything about you whatsoever!” 

“Uhuh… Tubbo?”

“Wh-What?”

“Eh- nevermind.” Techno sighs, grabbing the two by their forearms. Disregarding the obvious flinch Tommy does once he even gets close to the British boy. 

He couldn’t help it, honest to god or whatever entity existed if any.

(I haven’t slept a healthy amount of time in forever, this will be sloppy)

”God why’d we have to walk  _ so  _ far?” Tubbo complains, his hand wrapped tight around Tommy’s hand. A grip that couldn’t be separated until their limbs got pulled off. Per Tommy’s discreet request that fell upon deaf ears. He only had to give Tubbo a pleading glance, and a small mutter that Techno didn’t hear or at least didn’t bring up.

_ “Help me God,”  _ was their common phrase, as they usually only held hands in one of their emotional crises.

“Eh, I dunno. We need to kill shit,”

“Techno, Tommy can barely kill shit,” Tubbo sighs.

“Oh- fu- right- uh- Tommy you can just be the baby on the sidelines if we get into a fight with these things,”

“Oh come on! The sidelines?!” Tommy complains.

“We can also just lea-“

“fine,” Tommy backs down, tightening his grip (How tf do they have good grip strength. Idk fucking plot) on Tubbo. An airy, cold sigh escaping him quietly as he tries to warm his frigid fingers with Tubbo’s warmth.

He was always cold, what could he say?

Daddy used to complain about the cold often, his breath reeking of leftover booze he’d find in the cupboard. A half-empty bottle in his huge hands seemed to promise harm whenever he walked by.

Daddy never liked him, and the fact that his body felt freezing all the time barely helped. He’d grown to hate the cold as well, the feeling of danger always surrounding him when he was cold. The constant feeling of someone having a-

He’s getting off track once again. No need to focus on his “trauma” he supposedly had, according to Phil and Wilbur.

”Big Man, you’re squeezing my hand really tight, ” Tubbo whispers to him.

Tommy jumps, not expecting to be spaced out for that long or to be brought out of his head. He mutters a quick half-assed apology and releases his grip on Tubbo, crossing his arms around him in an inconspicuous way to defend himself he presumes. 

He looks around at the scenery currently. Multitudes of dead fires are on the ground, scattered wood and some half-burnt objects still lay there. A thin layer of ash coats the ground, resembling snow. Tall abandoned buildings were all around them, he believes they might be hospital buildings. 

This reminded him of a wasteland in every other movie.

Although this one had to be occupied.

Techno and Tubbo seemed to catch on as well, both of them slowly backing away, Techno’s hand on his small gun, and his fingers slowly wrapped around the handle. Ready to pull it out of his holster at any sign of danger.

”Tubbo, Tommy, I’d recommend running, ” he whispers, quickly pulling out a knife and handing it to Tommy, who stares at it before grabbing it with his shaky hands. He felt sick holding a knife, knives were awful to him. 

”Come on Tommy…” Tubbo mutters, turning on his heels away from this area. Tommy follows shortly, and they  _ try  _ to run.

Hence the word:  _ try. _

”Short one, move and he dies,”

”Who are you calling short?!” A knife goes to Tommy’s throat, ”Oh- not me… Ah well fuck, ” Tommy grumbles.

The person behind him is panting like a madman, ”Techno, you wouldn’t kill me unless you wanted me to…” the knife goes down on Tommy’s skin, lightly grazing the flesh. 

He bites his tongue, suppressing a raucous scream. Only letting a meek whimper escape him, he tries to lift his hands to stab him. Of course only to be threatened to get stabbed. 

”Fuckin’ hell. You shouldn’t get so pissed over a friendly rivalry, ” another unfamiliar voice chirps up. Footsteps echoing across the platform and next to the man who is about to murder him.

Sweat drips from his forehead. A chore just to prevent himself from crying  _ and  _ screaming. 

He lets go or someone takes the knife from his neck. The feeling of having it off of him was relieving. Although his knees are weak and numb, he can't move from his position, until he does.

He falls.

He keeps landing on his fucking wrists, God fucking-.

Ash explodes all around him, before slowly twinkling down and falling atop his head like snow.

It smells awful, like burnt food and paper, and he can't help but inhale the ash. A sickening cough escaping him, as he bites his tongue to deaden all of his emotions that were running through his head faster than a goddamn car at its max speed.

”Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice nears him.

”I-I’m fine, ” Tommy mutters, desperately trying to think of anything other than a knife pressed against his throat and someone whispering sweet threats that weren’t empty. ”It’s just some scratches and sh-shit”

”You almost got fucking stabbed, I'm not too worried about the physical repercussions-”

”I'm fine, Tubbo, ” He states, pushing himself up, wincing silently.

”God you can't even get up properly, you fucked yourself up yesterday, ” Tubbo grabs his waist and pulls him up, forcing Tommy to stay close to him at all times. 

He’s never been hugged before he believes.

Physical affection was different from his place. Every foster home and even his adopted parents never seemed to enjoy hugs, kisses, or any sentimental touch of the sort.

He wouldn’t necessarily call his old homes toxic or abusive, just a little  _ different. _

”Come on you two, ” Techno sighs, muttering something about shooting the green bastard. ”Dream is just petty and preferred to take it out on an orphan,”

”I did not-! You guys were trespassing!”

”You did Dream, ” 

”shut up Sapnap,”

“Make me bitch,” 

Tubbo sighs, still having hold of Tommy like he was a toddler, which he definitely acted like one, but he wasn’t stupid. 

“Techno!” He draws out the “o” “Tommy broke his wrists again!”

“I did not break them!” Tommy cries, trying to break free from Tubbo’s suddenly tight fucking grip.

“Again?” The guy supposedly named Sapnap asks, “how often does he break his wrists?”

“Dude he broke them or seriously injured them about ten times within all the time I’ve known him. Which is a month,”

“Actually 13 times,” Techno corrects. “He is pretty stupid.”

“Hey!” Tommy cries, flipping Techno off. “Fuck you, fight me bitch!”

“I’m fine with killing an orphan,” Techno shrugs, snatching the knife from Dream, who cries out in protest.

“No-no I’m sorry-“ Tommy laughs.

—————

Tommy sits on the cool tile floor of the thing that was confirmed to be a hospital, they were in the lobby. The only lighting from a few candles and the outside world. 

Tattered chairs were on the opposite ends of the room, claw marks on the walls and copious amounts of bloodstains almost every centimeter of the lobby. Possibly because people immediately thought the hospital would be the safest area.

“We couldn’t get any vaccines in time, the containment boxes had warmed and the viruses inside the vaccines had died by then,” The person who Dream named George sighs. “This place has been barren for a month, but we were able to find inactive lyophilized vaccines, like rabies, flu, and polio ones, so it’s pretty good,”

“Fundy complained about the vaccines like a few hours ago,” Sapnap sighs.

“Who the fuck is Fundy?” Tommy asks, trying to keep his eyes from closing. 

“Dream’s boyfriend and the only stability Dream has besides from us,” Sapnap explains.

“Not true!” Dream exclaims from the room next to the lobby.

“He’s a liar,” George shrugs, going behind the accounting desk and rummaging around. “Anyway, Fundy should be back soon if you’d like to stay and meet him,”

Tommy shrugs, resting his head on Tubbo who was next to him, looking at a fallen flyer on the ground that had writings about how the end of times was among them. The flyer wasn’t wrong, but the person who wrote it probably was viewed as a mental twat at the time. 

People always called him a twat. Or at least his family he had called him that. 

_ “You useless fuckin’ twat!” One of the drunken father’s he had would scream, the shattering of a bottle resonating through his head. “You can’t do anything right here!”  _

_ That day had left him bruised and scabbed terribly, yet no teacher nor student at his school noticed the obvious injuries or just ignored them like they ignored him. The latter was more likely, he was deemed the “troublemaker” in every school he went to, being disruptive and annoying as a pathetic coping mechanism for his home problems. _

_ To be honest - whenever he’d show up to school bruised and tattered, he was more of a target to children and adolescents around him. People would mock him or just beat him harder in free periods. To the point where he could barely stand anymore, and had a limp everytime he came back from school or left home. _

_ It was only a month before everything went to shit when someone actually reported his home issues and he got moved out of it, finally moving to a calmer, quieter home. Although they never seemed to like him very much either, caring, but never actually there for him. Never took him to therapy, (which he believes he doesn’t need) never talked about his past, never moved him to a new school.  _

_ He swore he heard them talk about them at night through the thin walls that exposed so many secrets. Their voices in low tones that felt angry and annoyed at him. They’d complain about his academics, his attention span, his flinching. All in such bitterness.  _

_ He never trusted adults and their words after that. Unless it was degrading, because it was true. _

“Tommy you spaced out there,” Tubbo says blankly, shaking his shoulder. “You were shaking and everything”

“Sorry,” he manages to mutter, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“No need to apologize!” Sapnap exclaims, a wide grin on his face.

“You do that a lot,” Techno sighs.

“What? Apologize? I’m pretty damn sure I don’t,” Tommy sighs.

“No- wrap your arms around your torso, you do it after you space out… often,” 

Shit. “Ha-! I do?! Techno you’re getting old you have n-no clue on what you’re saying-!”

“He’s right,” Tubbo blurts out, “shit, sorry. That was loud”

“Eh- it’s probably nothing!” Tommy deadpans, tightening his grip around himself. 

“We should probably go soon,” Techno mutters, looking outside. “It’ll be dark in maybe an hour. We’re at 1108 City Street in the parking garage if you’d like to visit one day. I trust you won’t kill us. Correct?”

They nod.

——————

Tommy rubs his eyes, staring down at the concrete of their base, little cracks and stains make his skin crawl. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur sighs, “come with me,”

“Hm? Oh- uh alright…” Tommy murmurs, getting up and following Wilbur up the ramp to the rooftop of the parking garage. 

It was quiet and the darkness clashed together in an unsettling way, a horror-esque scene is what it reminds Tommy of. There were still visible outlines of buildings as the people who always are here light fires and then leave so the entire city is at least a tad bit illuminated. 

“What did you need?” Tommy sighs, a sickening feeling pooling in his stomach.

“I see me in you. So you cannot hide this from me…” He rubs his temples, looking down at Tommy, who was now feeling the anxiety rise. 

“Uh- what do you mean b-by that?” He tries to act dumb.

He lightly grabs Tommy’s wrist, making the boy flinch and hard.

“Called it,” Wilbur says, dragging Tommy to the edge of the garage, the two staring out at the scenery. “My parents weren’t the best Tommy…”

Oh fuck he knew..

“They were both pretty high all the time, whether it was off of meth or cocaine, they weren’t so pleasant then… their best friend was a fucking bat,” He exhales a shuddering breath, “I-I broke so many limbs from them and always came to school in bruises and makeshift casts. I hid it well though, makeup w-was my best friend. Of course Techno and Philza came along in high school, but I was too far gone in my own head. Wishing I could just erase it all and k-k-kill myself. I was a low-life human being with druggie parents, that was what people labeled me as,” 

“So, I see it, your defensiveness, your locked away emotions, your behavior. I won’t pry any further, but you should tell someone the intimate details like I did with Phil because the latter will also open up to you as well. Which is why I’m trying to make you understand as well,” 

“It’s up for you to decide though, Tommy. Now c’mere.” He opens his arms, and a shaky Tommy can’t help but stumble into the embrace, holding his arms tight around Wilbur, holding him like a lifeline. He felt as if he let go, Wilbur would just disappear and leave him.

He can’t hold it in. Tears fell from his eyes, stupid sobs leaving him. He doesn’t speak, neither of them do. Wilbur just drags him and Tommy to the ground, hugging him tight. Like the two of them were the only people who existed. He knows Wilbur is crying, quite frankly pretty quietly, but he can hear the faint sniffles and tears soaking his shirt as well. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You haven't seen the half of both Tommy and Wilbur’s trauma yet.
> 
> Phil may or may not have some as well and may or may not have the next chapter all about him-
> 
> Uh- comments and criticism is appreciated and supported!

**Author's Note:**

> Please give comments! they are really appreciated and give me a shit-ton of motivation.  
> warning for a lot of cursing in the next chapter.


End file.
